


Bust Your Kneecaps

by afterafternoons



Category: The Book of Mormon - Ambiguous Fandom, The Book of Mormon - Parker/Stone/Lopez
Genre: BOM10DayChallenge, Chris Thomas is a hellion, M/M, One Shot, a plastic frog
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:16:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23602948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afterafternoons/pseuds/afterafternoons
Summary: Elder Thomas' rowdiness gets him in trouble around the Mission Hut.Especially in matters concerning Kevin Price.Line Prompt: "He squeezed it so tightly it broke."
Relationships: Elder "Connor" McKinley/Kevin Price
Comments: 6
Kudos: 26





	Bust Your Kneecaps

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first post for Day 1 of the 10 Day BoM Challenge!   
> I'll be posting to Tumblr first, you can find me @afterafternoons

Elbow deep in a bag of chips, Chris Thomas has watched diligently from the other side of the kitchen counter as his mission companion and best friend, Connor McKinley, only grows increasingly more irritated with his fellow elders' antics. Finally, drawing in a large inhale, Connor throws the towel that’s been draped over his shoulder onto the counter with an exasperated huff. 

After weeks of pushing people’s buttons for his own amusement, Chris has come to know this to mean Connor was nearing the end of his rope: and if Kevin didn’t stop doing whatever it was he’d been doing to piss Connor off, he’d be a dead man. (Granted, Kevin didn’t have to do much sometimes. At least not to wind up on Chris’ personal hit list.)

With exercised discretion, Connor mimes wringing his hands around someone’s neck, to keep from actually killing anyone in the general vicinity. “Elder Price,” He exhales, nostrils flaring as he tries to keep his cool and his tone even, “I could just strangle you sometimes.”

Chris finds himself nodding in agreement as he fishes around the bottom of the bag for another chip. Pointedly, he stares Kevin down. “That means out of the kitchen, Probie.” 

Kevin slinks away, onto different things, like a dog who's just been scolded for begging at the table and Chris finds himself in the position to do a little button pushing of his own. “He might be into that, you know?” He says suggestively, popping another chip into his mouth, “Erotic asphyxiation.” 

Connor’s typically bright blue eyes are a stormy grey and Chris hops off the stool, excusing himself and the communal bag of chips he’d just pilfered from the kitchen: he too, onto things less deadly than an angry Elder McKinley. 

Wherever it was Chris decided to go, Kevin was notably absent. 

* * *

“Why don’t you call Arnold ‘Probie.’” Kevin complains later that night, when he and Chris find themselves acting as dishwasher and dryer, respectively, according to the handy chore chart Connor had Davis draw up and post on the District Nine bulletin. 

Chris blinks up at the taller elder for a moment or two, stone-faced. “Because he’s our Prophet,” Chris says evenly, drying the dish Kevin’s just handed him, “That’d be rude.”

It takes every fiber of Chris’ being not to laugh in Kevin’s face, as Kevin pauses to scoff.

Kevin abstains from further questioning, clearly peeved and Chris is nice enough to leave him with a friendly, ‘I was just kidding, man.’ as they part ways at the end of the night. 

(If only to cover his own ass in the event Kevin complains about his light hazing to Connor.) 

* * *

Connor McKinley knows better than anyone that  _ maybe _ Chris is an acquired taste, but sometimes it feels as though Chris knows Connor better than he knows himself, and he fails to see how anyone couldn’t  _ not _ like him. 

“Do you need a companionship inventory?” Chris asks, half-asleep one morning, his toothbrush dangling out of his mouth as he watches Connor struggle with his own tube of toothpaste through the mirror. Chris knows that  _ officially _ they’re no longer companions through the Church, but he puts some stock into the way the Church had forged and emphasized the importance of these bonds between them.

Connor rubs at his eyes and Chris knows him well enough to know it’s not a sign of sleep deprivation or bad vision, but rather of pent up frustration. “Please.” Connor concedes, handing his toothpaste off to Chris in silent desperation. He just needs to set all his feelings on a table and he knows Chris will listen attentively, and offer valid feedback. Chris has a way of putting his head back on his shoulders and setting him straight, that nobody else can provide him. 

“Almost done in there, Elder?” Someone asks, knocking lightly at the bathroom door and Chris hands off the tube of toothpaste as he edges past his weary companion to answer it. 

“We’re-” He starts, pulling the door back until he’s face-to-face with Elder Neeley, “Oh, fuck off.” He makes an elaborate show of rolling his eyes whilst he slams the door in Neeley’s face. 

Chris and Patrick have had problems from the get-go, but neither has put any work into working through their rivalry and truthfully, Connor still doesn’t understand what they have against one another. “Was that necessary?” Connor sighs around his toothbrush and Chris grins maniacally as he leans over to spit into the sink. 

Connor takes that as a yes.

* * *

Chris Thomas is 5’2” (and a half) and in theory, he should be the least intimidating of the elders, especially considering he’d introduced himself to Kevin and Arnold as “Elder Pop-Tarts,” but there’s something about his antics and his unapologetic sarcasm that, in a way, make him a threat. 

Neeley likes to take him down about a thousand pegs, however, mentioning his height whenever he can. “Do you need help?” He’ll ask patronizingly if he comes across Chris reaching for something. Or, “Chris, you have to be at least  _ this _ tall to play.” 

Chris’ irritation first manifested in doing the  _ right _ thing. He’d huff and roll his eyes and walk away, and Neeley would get none of the satisfaction he’d been fishing for. Then, as he reached the end of his rope, he’d started in with somewhat empty threats. “I will cut your fingers off.” He remembers saying, to which Neeley grimaced and walked away. And another instance, “Call me short again and I’ll spoon your eyeballs out of your skull while you sleep.”

And for a while, Neeley stopped bothering him; and Connor started using Chris as a threat for his own amusement, siccing Chris on all of his minor annoyances, like a feral chihuahua until eventually Kevin started calling him Elder Anklebiter. 

* * *

Chris Thomas takes great joy in taking the two day’s trip to Kampala with Connor to check their mailboxes, if only because it gets him out of the Mission Hut and away from the likes of Kevin Price and Patrick Neeley, and, well, it gets Connor off his back. If there’s no one for Chris to antagonize, there’s no need to put Connor’s de-escalation training to use. 

However, Chris absolutely abhors having to lug big packages on the same two day trip back to Kitguli. Mostly, because they’re never for him, but also because they’re usually heavy and Connor typically pawns them off on him, spouting some bullshit about an aching shoulder. 

Chris prides himself in being a good friend, so he puts up with the bullshit anyway. 

Chris’ worst package, to-date, was a care package from Arnold’s mom, full of coloring books, sidewalk chalk, and various other craft supplies and tschotskes to keep them busy post excommunication. 

When they got back to the Mission Hut, Arnold grabbed a pair of scissors from one of the kitchen drawers and opened it on the kitchen table for everyone to see, letting the others take what they wanted. Though, right off the bat, Arnold claimed a little squishable, water beaded frog for himself  — intending to use it in community demonstrations on the teachings of the Book of Arnold. 

Funnily enough, it was a little disappointing for the other elders, because the frog was cute; but for the most part, they all moved on with their lives, picking other things from the box to occupy their time. 

And Arnold’s sweet, he lets everybody visit with the frog when they stop by his room to ask him about the Book of Arnold, or to suggest potential additions and alterations. Nabulungi teaches everyone how to say frog in Swahili. 

“Chura.” 

Leave it to Arnold to call it Churro.

But Kevin hates Chura. Hates all frogs, really, but he doesn’t tell anyone. 

Whenever nobody’s around, Kevin covers the frog with a spare Kleenex or napkin so he doesn’t have to look at it, to which Arnold always grins widely and notes Kevin’s consideration for covering the fake frog up to “keep him warm.” Kevin just forces a tight smile and nods. 

Unfortunately for Kevin, Chris is the first to catch on for his ranidaphobia, catching Kevin in the act of wrapping Chura in a napkin he’d taken from the table at lunch. 

“What’re you doing, Probie?” Chris asks, stopping short to lean into Kevin and Arnold’s shared room. 

Pointedly, Kevin doesn’t give Chris the benefit of knowing. (A mistake, on his behalf, he’d soon realize.) Instead, folding Chura wordlessly into the napkin and setting her back onto Arnold’s desk, hoping to ease past Chris with the intimidation of his height; but Chris is quick to block Kevin’s path, pulling Chura out of the napkin. “Frogs are cold-blooded, Kevin.” He says, “You can’t wrap Chura up in a blanket.”

“Chura is fake.” Kevin says, staring Chris down and purposefully ignoring the frog in his hand. Almost instantly, Kevin knows he’s said the wrong thing. 

Chris grins, setting Chura on Kevin’s shoulder and taking his time in straightening her out, “You’re right.” He acknowledges Kevin’s observation, “She is fake.” Kevin freezes briefly, before swiping the frog off of his shoulder in one fell swoop and trying to make a break for it as Chris scoops the frog off the ground.

“Kevin, she can’t hurt you.” Chris scoffs, accidentally tripping Kevin on his way out the door; and Chris wonders how long it’ll take anyone to investigate the large thud in the hall that had sent Kevin sprawling across the floor. 

“You know what,” Kevin spits back, knocking Chris’ hand away as he offers to help him to his feet, “You’re really starting to piss me off.” 

Chris wouldn’t say he’s a sadist, but any elder will tell you, there’s a great deal of fun that comes in riling Kevin Price up. Chris just gets the pleasure of doing so more than most, and he’s starting to think they’ve finally reached a point in time where Kevin will stand up for himself. So, he sees no harm in tossing Chura at Kevin who shrieks, and in seeing that Chris is scrambling to scoop up the frog again, instantly goes against his better judgement to grab it before Chris can. 

It’s a stupid thing, to fight over a frog, but there’s also a bit of ego tied into it as Kevin and Chris tussle on the ground. “You think you’re being funny,” Kevin growls, as Chris tries to pry his hands open, “but you’re not.”

“Oh, I think I’m hilarious.” Chris replies, struggling against Kevin’s surprising show of strength. Neither of them are thinking about how absolutely ridiculous they look on the floor of the hallway. 

Connor’s the first to find the two of them, and it seems like all of the other elders come out of the woodwork shortly after to watch on. “What the  _ fuck _ is going on?” Connor shouts over the commotion, trying to step into the middle of it all, and in trying to break up the fight, Kevin makes one last show of strength as he pulls Chura out of Chris’ hands  — only to have her innards of green orbeez explode everywhere. 

Chris stifles a laugh as Connor separates the two, confusion shrouding his features, and Chris doesn’t think he’s ever heard his companion swear this many times in a row as Connor whispers a quiet, “What the hell?” his eyebrows drawn together as he offers to help Kevin to his feet, Chris gathering himself. 

**“He squeezed it so tight it broke.”** Chris wheezes out and Kevin shoots a glare at him. 

“What broke?” Connor prompts and Kevin opens his hand to reveal just the plastic outsides of the frog.

“Oh my god,” Arnold says from the back of the crowd, “they killed Churro.” 

Chris supposes he’s earned the cold shoulder he receives from the whole of District Nine for the rest of the week. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Kudos & Comments appreciated and I'll see you all tomorrow!!


End file.
